Spectrum
by Fauning
Summary: The things you catch in the wind are sometimes not meant to be tainted by hands unknown. To hold a butterfly in the cup of your hands is torture to the wings of memory. Let it go. / \100 one word prompts, all based off of different characters in the Inheritance series. All filled prompts 1,000 words or less. Summer writing challenge fest 2013. / \
1. Mellow

**Word: **Mellow.

**Warnings for brotherly bro bonds**

* * *

Roran pulled up his shirt sleeve, revealing the long, rough scab marring his upper arm; the product of gravel and clumsiness.

Eragon laughed over his mead, his shoulders shaking with mirth as Roran grimaced, trying to hold in the growing amusement. Eragon only laughed harder, the hand not holding his cup flying to his mouth. "You're awful, this isnt funny Eragon-" Stopping halfway through his sentence, Roran started to laugh himself, failing his attempt to stay serious.

Eragon only laughed louder, some of the mead in his cup sloshing over to the side as he leaned forward, his forearm barring his stomach. Roran shook his head at his cousin-brother. Giving in, he threw his head back, the sound of their slightly alcohol-tainted merriment echoing through the Varden's camp. Once the huskily drunk giggles subsided, the two men watched the fire with smile on their faces.

The pleasant silence ensued for a long while before Eragon spoke. The flames illuminated his face, the shadows dancing along with the flames.

"I can't believe you tripped." his voice was airy with a drunk edge.

"You keep your mouth _shut_." came his brother's reply, and the laughter invited itself into the conversation once again.

All was well.

* * *

**YOU CANT KEEP ME FROM LOVING THEM AS THE BEST BROTHERS SORRY**


	2. Eternal

**Word: **Eternal

**Let's play light my heart on fire and barbecue over a flame of pain and suffering. **

* * *

The ambush was fast, Glenwing being struck first by an arrow that Arya could not see before she heard his cry of pain. Pulling her horse sideways, she tried to calm her steed to the best of her abilities as she pulled out your sword. Fäolin pulled his mare in front of Arya's, drawing his bow. He nocked a arrow and let it fly before shooting several more, striking at least 4 attackers hidden in the foliage of the trees. The horses grew finicky, shifting their weight from side to side. Arya pulled on the reins nervously. Were the attackers eliminated? No, there was too much dark power settling into their air for the area to be safe.

This was not natural, this was not happening. Arya felt as if she was not there, only looking in through a window as an outsider.

Arya heard Glenwing hiss in pain as he ripped the arrow from his shoulder. Blood accompanied it's removal, and you heard him press out a healing spell through clenched teeth. The trees grew quiet after that and an unfamiliar sense tingled in the elven female's bones. Fear.

A voice floated out over the forest, dark and malicious. "I knew that you would have brought the others, to go alone is a ill choice nowadays." A figure emerged from the trees, carrying itself with the same demeanor as it's voice. Fäolin let a few more arrows fly with frightening precision and a blinding light sent them back, broken and scattered at the horses's feet. The figure 'tsk'ed, chiding Fäolin for his attack. "That would be unwise, even elven arrows do not effect me."

The moonlight reflected off the opponent's face, and Arya saw red hair. He wore no armour, only decorative empire clothing. His features were startlingly inhuman and a realization struck her. A Shade.

The Shade lifted his hand and murmured something before Glenwing fell with a cry, his limp form tumbling off his horse. Arya heard the crack of his spear as it snapped under his weight. His horse reared, letting out a scream of fear as he threw his head, and Arya saw the terror in it's eyes before it bolted.

Fäolin grimaced, his snowy hair gleaming in the light of the clearing. "You have no business with us, Shade." he said between clenched teeth and Arya wanted to move from her spot behind him, too keep him from dying like Glenwing, but she stayed rooted where she was.

"Oh but I do. I'm here for the woman and the egg." At mention of the egg Arya froze, glancing at the pouch in her lap.

"We have no egg, leave us." Fäolin lied perfectly, but it could not fool the Shade. The embodiment of evil smiled, underhandedly initiating a battle. Drawing his sword, Faolan dismounted in front of the figure, meeting eyes with him as he grabbed the bridle on his horse and yanked, sending the dumb animal away from the site. Arya's eyes widened, Fäolin was ready to die.

The Shade lifted his hand again boredly, killing Arya's horse. She leapt off the animal at the last second before it crumpled, landing lightly. "I would not try to run with that beast, _Princess_." he spat out the word with an acidic sweetness. Fäolin's eyes flicked to her for a split second and she felt his mind touch hers.

_Run. Go far and finish this Arya Drottingnu. _He paused, his jaw tightening in pain. _I will love you, eternally. _With those words being said she ran, ignoring the shout of anger from the Shade as she killed her mate and started after her.

Ripping the egg from it's case, Arya stopped, knowing she would not escape. She was not willing to fail this mission completely. She felt tears streak down her face as she frantically formed words and the Shade barked a spell at her as she finished the desperate chant.

An emerald light illuminated the forest like a beacon and the egg disappeared from her hands as the red light struck her. She crumpled, one word plaguing the last moments of her consciousness.

_Eternally._


	3. Subtle

**Word:** Subtle

* * *

The touch was barely present, but ever so grim. Opening his eyes, Eragon rose, standing from his spot against the tree. Arya stood beside him, her dark hair tied behind her in a tight, plain bun. Eragon turned to her, nodding once as a thank you for pulling him from sleep before he started ahead, drawing his sword. Arya watched, motionless as she studied his features.

Noting the difference between the Eragon that stood before her and the one that had rescued her from Gil'ead, Arya wished that he had not been pushed into the war that changed him so drastically. Most alterations were quietly masked, but she could see them like beacons. His movements and appearance barely changed, only getting more confident and powerful if anything, but this was nothing compared the new look he held beyond his expression. Regret.

This change was anything but subtle.

* * *

**[muffled screams] I keep writing painful things. **


	4. Revenge

**Word:** Revenge.

* * *

Brom's gaze held, his hand rested firmly on his sword, Morzan smiled in response, his teeth flashing in a snarl-like expression. Brom's gaze narrowed and he lunged, Morzan blocking the attack. The two were focused only on each other as they fought, and the Riders circled like hawks around each other as they each tried to gain leverage. Brom slashed at Morzan's sides before sidestepping, flinging up his blade to block Zar'roc from landing a fatal wound to his chest. Morzan lifted his sword again, bringing it in a downwards flight toward's Brom's head, only to be blocked again.

Fury was the only thing Brom felt towards the man, and with a fire matching that from the throats of dragons, he struck over and over, refusing to let Morzan have a chance to strike. To outsiders, the battle would seem inhumanly fast, almost something from a child's tale of glory and victory.

This was the last time Brom would let him get away, and he struck relentlessly until he saw fear in the other Rider's eyes. Basking in the reverence of his opponent, Brom struck again and again, ignoring the burn in his arms. Brom threw up spells around them, preventing anyone from interfering, or from the possibility of Morzan escaping.

Morzan sensed the oncoming loss of the physical battle, and quickly changed tactics, attempting to force himself into Brom's mind. Brom felt anger surge through him and he focused on the image of Saphira, still striking with his borrowed blade in a wild attempt to disarm Morzan.

The red Rider battered at the Brom's mind in a desperate attempt to overpower him as he defended his physical body while the other did the opposite, guarding his mind as he attacked by blade. With a final strike at Morzan's sword, Brom watched as it flew from his opponent's hand, its red blade gleaming as it was flung into the air.

Brom moved with inhuman speed, catching the sword upside down, the blade slipping through his curled palm before he grabbed the hilt. Tossing it, the blue Rider flipped the blade around so he was holding it properly. With a almost insane grin, Brom tossed his borrowed blade aside, savoring Morzan's radiant fear as he watched his enemy wield his sword.

The two froze, Brom staying motionless as he kept the image of Saphira still in his mind. Morzan took a step back, and Brom took one forward, resisting the battering force in his head. The pain surged through his body, but he stayed adamant, determined to kill the man who killed his dragon and took half of his being. The man who considered Selena _property. _Fury flooded the dragonless rider and he flung out with his mind, breaking the tightly strung battle of willpower between the two men's minds as he gained the upper hand.

Letting out a cry of pent up anger, Brom rushed forward, Breaking Morzan's defenses as he thrust his sword through the dragon Rider's chest. Yanking it out as the Forsworn member fell, Brom lifted it again, watching the fear play through Morzan's glassy eyes.

Listening to the deathly wail of Morzan's red dragon, Brom swung downwards once more.

* * *

**that was interesting**


	5. Unsure

**Word:** Unsure

* * *

Angela moved, sorting out the herbs into their respective tins. The tins had been given to her by a friend, and they were perfectly air tight to keep the herbs from spoiling. The leaping animals on the front were interestingly vivid, despite being breeds not native to Alagaesia.

She started to chatter to herself as she sorted, calling out the names of the herbs. "Rosemary, Cilantro-" Angela stopped her mindless talk when Solembum's purring voice floated over the room.

"Why all the cooking herbs?" Angela heard his comment and with a confused expression, she glanced down, studying the sprigs of assorted herbs that she had laid out.

"I'm not sure, they were very cheap and abundant at the market, and are fairly easy to dry." her response was oddly un-Angela like and Solembum made his way onto the counter, settling down on the granite. His fur was soft looking and unmatted for once, and he stopped to stretch out his paws, the sharp claws flexing. They were silent for a few moments, Angela's lips parting with uncertainty as she gazed at the unwavering eyes of her companion.

"It is odd of you to be so unsure of yourself, Angela." With that, the werecat leapt off of the counter with grace, and Angela only saw the flick of his tail before he exited.

Angela stood for a long while.


	6. Mirror

I havent written in a while omfg, work and school have been a bitch beyond comparison.

**Word:** Mirror

* * *

Murtagh glared at his reflection as he rolled his shoulders. The burning hatred coursed through him in waves, but instead of being directed at the one who kept him fighting, it was a burning sense of self hatred that rolled through him like hot lead. He felt Thorn's faint sense of sorrow in response to the feelings he harbored towards himself and the darkhaired boy felt guilt.

_You are the reason for your dragon's pain. Your hatred towards those around you fuels your dragon's despair. The curse you hold will never fade and it is a shame you will only die in the end. _

Murtagh's hand flung outwards and the mirror shattered under his hands, the sound barely reaching his ears. Hot blood raced over the taut skin of his fist and dripped to the floor, spattered crimson across the stone. He dully felt the sharp pain that laced up his arm, and he stumbled backwards, hearing the gravely crunch of the glass against cobblestone. A large shard of the mirror lay flat in front of him like a reflective floormat, and the glass was marred by the blood that dripped from his tattered hand.

Murtagh only saw the reflection of a man who did not want to be in this world any longer.

That frightened him.

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for the love of god give me a review


	7. Wings

**Word: **Wings

* * *

The air from the wing of a dragon is said to caress and blow away all in the same wingbeat. ~_Du Hljödhr Skulblaka_

* * *

_Wumph._

Eragon caught the gleaming sword thrown by his elven companion, the hilt colliding with his open palm. The blue length of the blade resonated and Eragon swung it around to the front, the metal edge whirring as it cut the air.

_Wumph._

The powerful breeze from Saphira's wings rushed around him, warm and stirring. Airborne dust stung his cheeks, the pinpricking feeling accompanied with the gale that circled around his body. Saphira roared, her cry breaking through the sound of air rushing through Eragon's ears.

_Wumph. _

The words of power left his lips, freeing themselves and becoming lost among the voice of his dragon. His sword burst into flame, the blue tendrils of fire drinking the oxygen from the dry, windy air.

_Wumph._

Eragon shouted the promise of his victory, throwing his blade to the sky.

_Wumph._

For the Varden. For Alagaesia.


	8. Marked

**Word:** Marked

* * *

Pressing the hood of her cloak to her head, the shadowy form of a slim woman skittishly made her way across the garden path. The child in her arms let out a mewling cry and she frantically shushed the infant. "Quiet, small one." her voice was smooth and chiming, but nonetheless panicked. The child hushed herself, her small hands curling and uncurling absentmindedly. Her emerald green eyes stayed fixated on the scenery above her, soaking in the gloomy colors of the night sky.

The runaway shakily hummed to the child, glancing around the small town beyond the darkened garden. She was far from home, and she looked as if she had traveled, dirt marring her pale face. Spotting the house she wanted, the nameless woman moved quickly, taking long strides before arriving on the doorstep. She pulled down their hood, uncovering an angled face and a mass of snowy blonde hair. She shook her hair loose from the hood, letting it fall down her back.

She rapped upon the door before waiting, stealing frightened glances around her surrounding. The door opened, and an older woman peeked outwards. "Madeline?"

"Yes, it is Madeline, and I have the child."

The elderly woman pulled the door open, the metal squeaking as they pulled a large arch around the hinges. A shawl masked the weak form of her shoulders, and she quickly took the child from the younger woman's arms. "Madeline, the child-"

"Her name is Annabel. Now I must depart." Madeline blinked away the tears that had begun to cloud her vision, and she shook her head before turning around. Her cloak dusted the ground, the hem becoming dirtied with earth. The old woman lowered her gaze, taking the clue that the conversation was over, and closed the door, locking it after it had clicked shut.

Annabel stared at her new caregiver, fixated on their face. The old woman drew away the soft, feathery hair that covered the child's forehead, and stared in a mix of horror and shock at the mark that marred the child's moonlighted skin.

A quartz coloured diamond of shiny skin centered itself on the child's forehead like a beacon of what was to come.

The mark of a dragon.

* * *

I think telling the stories of assorted people in Alagaesia is vital to a well built world as well as the main characters so I made Annabel and Madeline; two runaways from their home.


	9. Dance

**Word:** Dance

* * *

The music was soft, like Arya's hands, and Eragon made an effort to move slowly to match her graceful pace. He felt vaguely proud of the fact she had chosen him for the first dance, and glad because he never would have had the nerve to ask her himself. She was monotonously serene as always, and he glanced around nervously, trying not to stare at her. She met his wandering eyes, green boring into brown, and Eragon felt the heat rise in his face.

"Eragon, I hope I am not being intrusive, but I must ask you a question. " Arya's eyes didn't leave his, and Eragon masked the tenseness he felt by nodding fluidly.

"Ask away Arya Dröttningu." Their dance slowed to a slow, swaying step, and Eragon felt apprehensive towards the oncoming question. Arya lowered her eyes unobtrusively, her hair falling out of it's updo to frame her face.

"Do you believe we will win the war?" Arya spoke softly, and Eragon had to strain to hear her voice over the soft trill of the choir's voice. He unconsciously tightened his grip on her willowy hands, his steps growing absentminded. He felt Arya's eyes studying his face, but he lost much of the capability to feel modest.

After a long moment he looked up, meeting the elven princess's eyes.

"I do not believe in myself, but I have faith in the possibility that I can." Eragon paused, taking a breath before beginning again; "-And that is why I need you, Arya Dröttningu, you and Saphira and everyone else."

"Even if you do not, I trust that you will bring peace to Alagaesia, Eragon." Arya's voice was lilting and soft, and Eragon barely soaked in what she was saying enough to redden and sputter, only letting his lips part as the tune broke into a more upbeat melody.

Arya gently removed her hands from his before giving him a solemn nod, a soft smile gracing her face. "Goodnight, Shadeslayer."

Eragon tore his eyes away from her retreating form, only half processing his surroundings. The music had gone from harmonically woodsy and soft to an upbeat medieval tune, and he saw dancing maids and warriors in their best clothes. Nasuada was among the crowd, her dark velvet gown clashing with Katrina's soft yellow dress. Eragon processed none of this, his thoughts lingering on one detail.

_She believes I will succeed._

* * *

**This just in: **Eragon is a big gay baby who has a big gay baby crush on Arya


	10. Priorities

**Word:** Priorities

* * *

The armies below were roaring, the shouts and screams escalating as the the seconds turned into minutes. Eragon barked a spell at an archer who's arrow put itself in the path of Saphira, and among the masses of Empire soldiers, one after another dropped like flies. No longer the the timid farmboy who battled with sticks around a campfire, Eragon was now a force to be reckoned with. Whether by spell or by blade, Eragon could strike down many, urgal or human.

Arya flew through the mass of soldiers, leaping over one body only to slice down another. Eragon tailed behind her, guarding her back. The dust from the ground rose up like ghosts, swirling and blinding. Eragon struck down a soldier wielding a mace, and glanced at Saphira, who had landed and started to rip apart foes by teeth and claw. He saw the her thick tail rise into the air, only to slam down, spraying blood as it smashed the men who swarmed her like flies.

Eragon blocked a parry to his side, his feet digging into the ground as he stayed steady. Within moments that man was down along with several others, and the blue rider had moved to stand besides the elven ambassador. Arya was grim faced, and Eragon noted the manner in which she grimaced at the sight of the mass casualty.

After what seemed like an eternity, the armies diminished, and the now smaller number of enemy militia tried to retreat, knowing they were outmatched, but there was no escape point, and the Varden continued to pick away at the remainders of Galbatorix's battalion. Eragon fell back as Arya went ahead, both picking off the last lone ants from the Empire's colony.

When the last trooper had been eradicated, Eragon plunged his sword into the earth, huffing out a tired breath. Saphira shook herself off in the distance, and Eragon felt her pain over the multitude of arrows that had pierced her leathery hide. Eragon stood straight, sending a message of "I'm coming" over the mind link, and only then did he hear Arya's frantic shout, and see her lean form move out of his peripheral vision.

He had barely turned his head when he heard the haunting 'twang' of an arrow being loosed, and he heard Saphira let out a roar as everything slowed to a frightening stop. Arya moved like lightening, and Eragon opened his mouth to shout the elf's name, but the words died like flames in a pile of ashes in his throat.

Arya took a stumbling step backward as the arrow struck her in the shoulder, a thankfully shallow and easily treatable strike. He heard her snarl a death spell at the archer, who had disguised himself as one of the dead in order to gain a good shot. Everything was quiet, and he noticed Roran looking over the field at the three of them, just as stunned as Eragon was.

Arya grasped the arrow in her shoulder, growling a healing spell as she ripped it from the tissue. Eragon felt like flinching, but he only stood silently as the elf wiped the blood from her wound upon her leggings. The crimson blood stained the deerhide like a gorey dye, and Arya hissed out another healing spell as she tossed the bloodied arrow upon the ground before she begrudgingly dropped her sword and knelt down. Eragon took heavy steps forward before dropping down in front of her, paying no heed to the eagle feather fletched arrow that had stuck his friend.

Arya looked up, studying his face, and Eragon realized that the arrow was meant for him. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words only died once again, and the blue rider only averted his eyes. Arya dropped her hand from her injury, the blood on her fingers already drying in the blistering heat.

"Eragon." she spoke his name clearly, no sign of the pain that laced her words those few minutes ago present in her lilting voice.

Eragon looked up reluctantly. "Why did you do that Arya-ebrithil?" Eragon felt shame rush over him and he spoke again, his voice strong. "Why take an arrow for me when it could have just struck me in the arm?"

He saw anger flash in her green eyes, and the elf stood up, her steps laboured. "Do not question me Shadeslayer. An shot in the dark could be a shot for your throat and you are much more vital than I."

Eragon only watched her retreat.

* * *

***dances furiously*** review please and thank you


	11. Routine

**Word: **Routine

* * *

_'You were a wolf in the night to fetch me, back... ' - Phildel, "The Wolf"_

* * *

Murtagh spat at the King's feet, the clear liquid laced with blood from the aching bitemark on the inside of the red rider's cheek. His scalp burned from the vicious yanking by the guard who dragged him back and Murtagh hissed words between clenched teeth, struggling to stay composed. "I was taking a walk-"

He was silenced quickly by a kick in the back, and his head slung forward from the force, leaving him gazing at the granite cobblestone of the King's throne-room.

"Quiet." Galbatorix sounded bored, and Murtagh felt hot fury flood his bones at the tone of his keeper's voice. He tasted the iron in his mouth, the metallic taste hot. This was becoming routine. The guard yanked one more time on his long brown hair, urging him to stay quiet with a cold tone. The dark atmosphere of the room threatened to choke him like smoke, and Murtagh hoped to get the beating over with so he could return to his quarters.

"I don't think this should be resolved with physical beatings, now should it?" Galbatorix sounded coldly pleased, and within a split second Murtagh's forehead was pressed against the cold stone as his throaty yell of pain reached the high ceiling of the room. The all to well-known pain swept through his entire being like oiled fire. He didn't notice the guard's hand leaving his hair, and the rider could only feel the sharp pain that pierced his consciousness like a poison-tipped dagger.

Even through the familiar pain, Murtagh mistily decided not to move, only bracing his forearms against the earth as his screaming bounced off the rock below his face. He would not give the monster the satisfaction of seeing him writhe on the ground. The pain came in waves, like knife that plunged into his mind repeatedly, and he felt the flicker of memories flash behind his eyes.

The pain subsided after another excruciating minute, and Murtagh was left on the chilled floor, his breath coming in painfully ragged bursts. He felt the cold trail of tears down his cheeks, but he remained on the floor for moments more, waiting to see if it was truly over.

After another aching minute Murtagh shakily rose from his position, not making eye contact. He felt the smug smile on the King's face, but he did not address it, only swaying slightly as he waited for a dismissal. It came after Galbatorix decided he was properly disciplined, and Murtagh only needed the small wave of a hand until he confidently made his way out, the underling fear of being stopped fueling his long strides. Murtagh ducked his head, clenching his teeth. He dug his fingernails into his palm, drawing blood. Murtagh was going to make his way out, whether it be by death or by some miracle, he was sure of it.

He felt it was more likely to be death.


	12. Hair

**Word:** Hair

* * *

The dagger was sharp, it's serrated edge able to cut both flesh and cloth with the ease of cutting butter. Arya glared at it, wondering if she could burn the iron with only the power of her gaze. She felt the presence of someone behind her, and from the rippling water's reflection she spotted dark brown hair.

Eragon.

"Arya-"

Lifting the knife, Arya grabbed her mass of hair, the braid still holding the locks together. Eragon didn't move, only waiting patiently for her to make a decision. The elf clenched her teeth and ripped the knife through her obsidian hair. She held the neat braid in her hand and tossed it into the crystalline water, leaving it fray and become soaked with the river water.

Letting the rebellious grin spread across her face, Arya turned around, meeting Eragon's eyes. "That hair was becoming quite the bother."

Eragon let out a lighthearted laugh, "Short hair is very different, but very fitting for you Arya."

* * *

**I like the idea of Arya with short hair, she is a warrior and lets be honest, long hair is a fucking bother when you're trying to slaughter enemies. **


End file.
